Part I: Arrival at Brindello

There comes a time within a man's life where he begins to grow tired, and the activities which had been of daily routine become difficulties throughout the day. As such toil renders us inable to pass the time solely with activity alone, therefore thoughts pervade us. As the youth drains away from our bones in the inexorable passage of time, such is the fate of all mortals, we of no sound body must rely on a cultivated and sound mind. Eyleth has thus shown such mercies as to allow me to claim my mind when all else begins to fail me. In these moments, it is inevitable that one would recollect the past. Such imaginings would return to us those far-long days when we would be most joyous, and remind us bitterly of moments where our grave decisions turn to regretfulness. It is in the passing of these awful memories, we are reminded of the lessons we have learned through life and thus are our responsibility to offer this wisdom to the current youth, that they might not fall into the same harsh lessons we once faced. Allow me then to reminisce, and conjure, if I can, the wisdom of my years from the days before the Empire.

We began at once from the beginning of our journey north, from the southern tip of Eccitania to the paths that would take us to the High Heartlands of the Ostian plains, that Land of Kings, to beyond the Stone Spines of the great mountains of Arnorn, to the shores of the Tears of the Dragon of the where the warfront lay. Our caravan went long across the roads with four wagons in tow, pulled along by two horses each. I was sick of the road by this point, as no prior instruction had mercifully lent to me that our detour to the remote dukedom of Brindello would lead us to a backwater valley with no mention, save for a passing in the annals of those storied mountains that now squarely sit on our horizon. The beautiful Northern Ridge were so aptly mentioned in many poems and scriptures to remain loyal to their infamy, that their very slopes were remembered among countless battles to stain its stone with blackened blood and the many skeletons upon their sides that would call them the sorrowful home of the forgotten dead. This, however, as fanciful and romantic as it would be, would not be the destination for the front, and thusly, main lines of the ongoing War of Dragons. It was an unnecessarily hot day and I was like to rip the padding and chainmail from my person were I not among company. It seemed as though it was as dry and hot as any day could get in the midlands of Arnorn, that perhaps the leaves of the olive trees lined in distant orchards would sweat the very dew from them. However I had learned to be grateful for the lack of difficulty upon our journey. Despite the war, our troubles were no more trivial than a few littered branches along the path, and perhaps some outstretched brush on our shoulders. Of course, no pack of bandits, no matter how fixed in their desperation, would risk themselves over the number of our envoy; some amount of about a score of spears, and half a score of cavalry, not discounting myself among them, as well as a handful of very well-armed Dragon Slayers from Caleburnus Hold. Which, among them were our charges, their War Marshal, Tyrius Valhaim, and a younger fellow who was a lesser known Minister by the name of Cassius of Priena. They were safeguarded by myself and the Dragon Slayers, who no doubt were eager for the frontlines of war, which sat among our four carriages just second from the back by specific request of Cassius himself. I could overhear much of their conversation within the chamber of the covered wagon from my perch that I would wager was intentional for reasons I did not understand, nor could foresee at the time. Most hours they sat silently, save for times when we would pass through villages within the Sea of Grass. That once strange exception that Cassius would neither stop nor speak during our time travelling through Priena. Even within our stop for rest in the noble city of Ostia itself, hardly talk was among them. Tyrius would command in simple but effective words, while Cassius found himself beset by the wonders of the world, and would speak only to educate our humble troop on the histories of the land, and the importance they laid within our religion. Neither of them were much for conversation either way, choosing rather to speak when it was useful, except where one began to inquire about the other. Cassius read his small collection of religious tomes besides, and on occasion would read aloud as to garner my attention. Almost a private sermon. I remember the fondness I had for such, as they were just about the only thing that would keep me from going mad in the Ostian sun.

 I had met them both for the first time when mustering at Port Demasi at the beginning of our long journey some weeks ago. Tyrius, the easily recognizable, would approach with an oppressive atmosphere likened to a renowned commander known for his severe deeds in combat, but swaying in his gait and claiming in his countenance the rough but caring hero of the truly downtrodden. Close behind him traveled one who was not yet familiar to any of the levied men. Tyrius himself would introduce this fellow, named Cassius, with all the charge of an authority giving so heavy a responsibility and mission to us. He laid upon us our sworn duty to protect the young minister, for this man was seen as the makings of a saint, known in the Orthodoxy as a Paragon. The first noticeable quality of Cassius as he then approached us was his garb - simple robes, and not one indicative of a high class and wealth as so many of his peers would so ostentatiously present themselves, no. Rather, robes of a humble and familiar spirit, much like something you would find draped upon the shoulders of the peasantry of Brindello. His humility was not lost on our group, even as he stooped before us as though retrieving something he had dropped. However, as he stood at full length, our sudden confusion would shift glances of respect and general embarrassment, as most of us had not the slightest idea on how to receive such an awarded honor, and some of us simply resigned to present yet a deeper salute, whereas others would awkwardly shift in their soldierly presentation. As he drew closer to speak to Tyrius, I was offered the chance to study his face. His countenance was young and comely, and to my subtle surprise, no older than myself at the time. As a soldier, I endeavored to never allow my emotions to show in my countenance. At this time, barely a glimpse of my initial thoughts of him I would let stray, and my stance was as ever rigid, hard, and statuesque; yet I could not simply shake that this young minister seemed so perceptive as to register even the most tenuous of fidgets or glances. Thence, betraying my rigidity, I let my exterior shift. Just as expected, Cassius caught and regarded my mere falter of a smirk, only to repay it with one of his own. I dared not continue any train of thought on the idea, believing it foolish of me, so little of station, that I would have garnered such affections. In my hindsight it was in the tenuousness of that moment which defined us as fast friends.

The arrival to Brindello fell upon us with no climax or fanfare as one would expect for soldiers during wartime. Our true destination yet lay further ahead, but this detour proved tedious. The streets were bare with the ghosts of civilization. There was life here, to be sure, on the account of the mustering merchants, supplying the armies to the north and keeping the passage free. However, there were few here, positively because there were few soldiers of any kind here as it was. The only traffic seen here would have come from the Jeweled Mountains down the Dawn Way, which had passed through the valley west of here so called the Valle d'Elsèro. Out of plain curiosity, I had asked Cassius what he knew of the Vale. An interested smile crept across his lips as he recounted what he knew from the holy text. "The Elserum is little known, and out of the way," said he, "However, whilst many would be so quick to dismiss this place as of the many unimportant regions, it was the site of an ancient battle generaled by Sanctus Caleburnus himself. It was here the grand royal armies of Netherzad met their match as their ten thousand strong collided with the wills of the Seven Gods. Caleburnus knelt in solemn prayer and the mountains crashed, and the Elsèro River which runs through had flooded, wiping away their numbers as though smearing paint and washing it away. Later, it became a sovereign state under the protection of the old Ostian Empire. Then, the vale was known as the Kingdom of Regnata." There was such intelligence behind his eyes and such vivacity within his calming voice that I had hung on to every word. I felt a spirit of wonder wash over my form, as though blessed with thought by Xandohar himself. Never before, until now, had I wished more than anything to understand better the world in which I inhabited. My wild thoughts were interrupted by our caravan stopping. We had paused before a grand building, fit with all the mediocre finery of a peasant house, though this apartment it seemed conjoined with two others to form a small complex. Aside the doors and affixed over the balcony was the flag and insignia of the Achamothian Orthodoxy. It was a curious sight to see such a standard so far from a proper cathedral. "The streets are empty. The people are suffering. Afraid. The war has passed over this place once and they are not so keen on it doing so a second time. They have boarded up their windows and doors in response for they are helpless." Said Tyrius, emerging from his carriage in response to one of the levies. There was a pause until at length, Cassius turned his gaze down the open and unkempt streets, "No, Tyrius. Fear does not live here. If there were no courage in these poor people, then they would have fled southward to safety in the bosom of the Levy Alliance. Boarded windows and barricaded doors, shelters and chokepoints. I see not a people so afraid of what might come. I see soldiers lying in wait to protect what they love. I see the people of Arnorn." I remember the look that changed on Tyrius' face then, and the essence of a shadow of shame that pervaded him. He was not then so wise, and felt that by Cassius he was the lesser to see only despair while Cassius the Paragon had seen the hearts and minds filled with the zeal of a spear wall, chanting the names of the Seven Gods, singing praises and prayers to the Dragon God, Asorah the Radiant, for courage in their fight. I knew that every man there would defend his place and his family with his life. It is a small sacrifice to an Arnornian should he need to lay his life down for family and home. Such is the hallmark of our people, not solely in the devotion to our Gods, but in the devotion to our well-founded pride of what we built in this hostile world.